Picking Up the Pieces
by Molly4
Summary: Part 2: Past and Present. Chapter 1 of Part 2 now available. Enjoy!
1. Default Chapter

A\N: Sequel to "Unbreakable." Clark tries as hard as he possibly can to avoid his father. Lex runs an experiment with Lana's necklace that ends up hurting Clark severely, but in the end, brings him closer to his father.  
  
Disclaimers: Don't own it. Not one thing.   
  
I'm not sure if it's all that good, but i decided to post it anyway.   
  
Picking Up the Pieces  
By: Molly  
  
Prologue   
  
Lex Luther held the necklace up to the light. He frowned. There was nothing special about it. It was pretty, he guessed, well, at least for a meteor rock. But other than not, nothing. Nothing at all.   
  
The necklace had been easy to steal. Lana was, not surprisingly, unsuspecting. Lex, with a little distraction and quick fingers, stole the necklace right off her neck. His mind was not on Lana, however. His thoughts were consumed by another.....Clark.  
  
What was it that made Clark weak at the knees at the mere sight of the necklace? Did he grow nervous just at the sight of something worn by the love of his hormonal life? No, that didn't make any sense. He had easily asked Lana to the Radiohead concert. There was something, something about the necklace. Clark was so strong, so in control, then once he even caught a glimpse of it, BAM! He was sweaty, and weak, and on the verge of collapsing. Then just as suddenly as that started, once you took it away, he was just as powerful as before.  
  
'Maybe it's the rock,' Lex thought. "Some kind of allergy?" He mumbled. That didn't seem logical either. He described Clark's ailments to one of the men on his medical team, and he'd found no disease, no allergy, no nothing that had those kind of symptoms. 'This boy's an enigma,' Lex decided, twirling the necklace.  
  
Ever since his life had been saved by Clark, Lex had become almost obsessed with him. No, Lex was not gay, it wasn't like that. Clark fascinated him. Lex was certain he'd smashed right into Clark. Any normal teen would've been six feet under a week later, not saving yet another life with, well, however it was that Clark did save lives. No normal teen could have ripped off the hood of the car like that, or smashed it that much. And now, after having the car closely examined, Lex was certain that Clark was the cause of the wrecked car which now had it's own room. And every time he tried to ask Clark what had happened that day.....he was a brick wall. He didn't say anything at all, just that he didn't really remember anything. But that innocence about him.....well he couldn't tell a lie very well. After years of practice lies could slip out of Lex's mouth naturally, smoothly, and sometimes he honestly believe that he was telling the truth. Maybe he'd just inherited it from Lionel Luther, that man could lie and cheat just about anyone. He could probably lie his way through a polygraph test and nobody could know the wiser. His father had no conscience.  
  
But Clark, well, why did he even try to lie? He was so obvious. The way he'd lick his big red lips, look at his feet, and stutter his way through a reply.....so obvious. Why did he try? What was he hiding?  
  
One thing was obvious to Lex. Clark's parents were in on his secret too, or maybe just his father. Jonathan Kent was a perceptive man. He was also overly protective of his only son. Put the two together, and you had a dangerous combination. Lex did not doubt that Jonathan had known that he'd only invited them to the financial meeting. Perhaps he only went to prove how much he really refused to trust Lex, or maybe just to humor Martha. Whichever, he'd proved his point. He didn't care for Lex, and he would have no qualms in letting it be known. It didn't really matter to Lex. He doubted anybody liked a Luther. At least not in Smallville.  
  
Jonathan, he was an obstacle standing in the way of Lex's quest to find out just who Clark Kent really was. Merely an obstacle, but a pretty big one. Jonathan was tricky, and he'd stop at nothing to protect his son. Lex could still see him in his head, running down to Clark, ruggedly taking off his jacket then gently putting it around his son, worried and loving. At first Clark's father had looked pretty dumb, even acted it sometime, but that innocent farmer routine didn't fool Lex for long.   
  
Lex wasn't sure just why he really wanted to know Clark's secret. Maybe he just liked a good mystery. He smirked. All he knew was that Kent intrigued him. And he'd stop at nothing to find out just who he really was. And if that meant getting Jonathan and Martha out of the picture....well, in the words of Hard Harry, 'so be it.' He'd done it once, with Nixon, what could stop him from doing it again. Well, maybe the thought of leaving Clark an orphan, but he didn't have to take them both. Maybe he could leave Martha.  
  
That thought forced a cruel smile to Lex's lips. Lex knew he wasn't evil. At least not really. Maybe in a sense he seemed to be, or was, or would be. Of that Lex didn't know. He guessed some people might consider making someone's parents "disappear" would be considered evil, but he was a Luther, and the bar was set pretty high in that family, with all the crookedness in his family.  
  
"Boswell," he called suddenly, finally deciding on his next step.  
  
Boswell, a young Australian man, despite his British sounding name, was Lex's sort of personal assistant. Not too bright, and perfect for the job Lex had in mind.  
  
"Yes, Master Luther?" Boswell asked.  
  
"Boswell, I need you to look around this town and see if you can find any of these rocks." Lex handed him Lana's necklace, and watched as the young man's face twisted into confusion.  
  
"But why?" Boswell asked, regretting it instantly. If there was one thing you learned from working for Lex Luther, it was never ask questions. But Lex was amazingly calm when he spoke again.  
  
"That is none of your concern," he told Boswell quietly. "Now do you think you can handle this, or do I need to find someone else to do this?"  
  
"No, mate, I'll do it just fine. I think I saw some of these same things in the lake when I went fishing with my brother. Peculiar little things. They glow, ya know?" Boswell grinned his toothy grin.  
  
"Just bring me all of these rocks that you can find, and quickly. Let no one know of this." Lex smiled cooly. "Do you understand?"  
  
"Yes, Master Luther. I'll head out right now." Good on his word, Boswell hurried out of Lex's study, heading towards the front door, the necklace tucked away in his pocket.  
  
"Just a harmless experiment," Lex muttered. "Completely harmless." Staring at a recent school photo of Clark he's acquired in the same way he had the necklace he grinned. "I'll figure you out, Clark Kent. I will." 


	2. Mixed Emotions

Disclaimer: Same as usual. Don't own a damn thing. But I'm not bitter. Really. OKAY?  
  
  
  
  
Chapter 1  
  
Clark Kent grabbed a muffin from the basket on the kitchen table and slid into a chair, greeted by a large glass of milk.  
  
"Anything to keep you from drinking out of the bottle," Martha Kent explained, smiling and kissing her son on the top of his head.  
  
"Morning Ma," Clark greeted her with a guilty grin. He took a swig from the glass.   
  
Martha shook her head. "You feeling okay, Clark? You're ready a full ten minutes before the bus comes. Might even make it today."  
  
"Ha, ha," Clark said dryly, giving a smile revealing two rows of perfect, Colgate-white teeth. "It's picture day. Don't want to be late." Clark paused. "How do I look?"   
  
Martha looked at him from head to toe. The usual red V-neck sweater over a white shirt, jeans, and New Balance running shoes. No different than any of his other outfits. She smiled at him anyway.  
  
"You look gorgeous, sweetheart," she told him, wrapping her arms around him in an awkward, over-the-back hug, and kissing his cheek.  
  
"Mooom," Clark groaned, shifting in his seat uncomfortably, feeling his face redden.   
  
"Mornin' Martha. Mornin's Clark," Jonathan greeted his family.  
  
"Good morning, Jonathan," Martha replied, kissing her husband's cheek and smiling at him.  
  
Clark just grunted a 'hey,' and quickly left the room, stopping only to grab another muffin for the road. He scooped up his backpack and headed outside to wait for the bus.  
  
Martha glanced at her husband suspiciously. "Did you and Clark get into a fight whole I was gone? Was it about Lex Luthor again?"  
  
Jonathan swallowed a lump in his throat, and struggled to keep his voice calm. "No. No. No fight." He grabbed the bottle of milk from the fridge and chugged it straight from the bottle, hoping to divert Martha's attention away from Clark.  
  
"Jonathan, how many times do I have to tell you to get a glass?" Martha asked, hands on her hips. "Look what you're teaching Clark."  
  
Success. Now Martha was going on about how big of a slob he was. Jonathan really hated to lie to her. The fact was, something had happened in her week's absence. Something that had altered his relationship with his only son. Ever since Jonathan had caught him trying to kill himself, Clark hadn't said much to him. Whenever Jonathan entered a room, Clark left it. If Jonathan tried to talk to him, Clark zipped away. It was frustrating, and really, a major pain in the butt. He just wanted to talk to his son.  
  
Jonathan quickly went out the back door, calling to Martha over his shoulder that he had some work to do in the barn. Martha stopped short. It hit her what Jonathan had done.   
  
"Sneaky bastard," she mumbled. She couldn't help it. Neither Jonathan nor Clark had been exactly talkative since she got back. Clark was bright and friendly around her, and cold and distant when Jonathan came around. She was certain, positive that something had happened between them, but whenever she tried to ask either of them, they quickly steered her away from the topic.   
  
She sighed and began to vigorously dust the living room, a habit she had picked up from her own mother. Whenever things got tough, cleaning could always take your mind off things. Martha stopped as she picked up the picture of Jonathan and Clark that was perched on top of the fireplace.   
  
Martha had taken the photo their second Christmas, or maybe it was their first. She couldn't quit remember. There were Clark and Jonathan asleep on the living room floor, wrapping paper all around them, and under them even. Jonathan had his arms wrapped around Clark protectively, and his lips just barely touching Clark's cheek. Martha gave a sad smile. Her two "little boys" looked so cute. They had been so close. What had happened?  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The bus came to a screeching halt in front of Clark. The doors opened slowly, and he, equally slow, boarded. His eyes scanned the cramped bus for a seat. Every spot was filled. Chloe, sitting next to Pete, gave him a sympathetic, almost guilty smile. She had obviously thought he'd miss the bus again, and hadn't bothered to save him a seat. Clark shifted awkwardly.  
  
"C'mon, Kent," the bus driver urged. "We ain't got all day."  
  
"Clark!" A beautiful soft voice called from the back of the bus. Lana Lang. She was, amazingly, sitting alone. For once Whitney was not latched onto her arm. Clark felt a wave of hormones hit him like a freight train and he shifted his backpack in front of him, feeling his face go red. "Clark! Over here!"  
  
Clark walked quickly up the aisle, praying they were no other Clarks on the bus, and ignoring the snickers from the people noticing where he held his backpack.  
  
"Lana Lang strikes again," he heard someone whisper to the person sitting next to them.  
  
"Can't say I blame him," the other guy hissed back, stifling a laugh.  
  
Finally Clark was at his final destination. To his one true love. He plopped down next to her, careful not to move his backpack.  
  
"Hey, Lana," he said softly, feeling his heart settled down to a normal pace.   
  
"Hi, Clark," she greeted him with a big smile, her eyes twinkling softly.   
  
"Where's Whitney?" Clark asked. 'Nice job, Kent,' he told himself. 'Just when you might have a shot, you have to go bring up her boyfriend.'  
  
"Picking up his car from the shop. It's pretty banged up," Lana explained. "He'll probably end up being late, but, hey, I tried to warn him." Her smile made Clark's insides do the Macarena. He tried to steady himself, though he grew more excited as he realized that his leg was just touching Lana's.   
  
Lana blushed, noticing this, but the seats were too small for her to move any farther away, so she decided to just grin and bare it. She pulled her skirt down a little farther. 'Damn mini-skirt,' she thought. 'You and Clark would make a cute couple.' Lana was surprised as soon as that thought popped into her mind. What was she thinking? Clark was her friend, just her friend. Sure he was gorgeous and all, but she had Whitney, who she truly loved.  
  
The thought of Whitney tamed her reckless heart. She loved him, she really did. Clark was just a friend.   
  
"How do you think you did on that history quiz?" She finally asked, trying to fill the awkward silence between the two of them.  
  
Clark wrinkled his nose, trying his hardest not to laugh at Pete who was waggling his eyebrows at him, and pretending to make out with his backpack.   
  
"Huh? Oh, yeah. The quiz. Probably failed." Clark shrugged. "You win some, you lose some."  
  
"Yeah. I know what you mean," Lana replied with a smile. "Mr. Neil can be brutal."  
  
Clark nodded slowly in agreement. "So, there's a uh, a dance comin' up this month I hear."  
  
"Uh-huh," Lana mumbled. For a brief second she could almost picture it. Clark looking dashing in a black tux, holding her tight as they danced to the Goo Goo Dolls. Her in a tight fitting blue dress, looking into his big eyes, and speaking without saying a word......"I'm going with Whitney," she blurted out, trying to delete all images of her with Clark from her mind.  
  
It's Luthor's fault she decided. Just yesterday he had left a message on her answering machine, speaking softly about how sometimes your soul mate was right under your nose and you never knew it. How sometimes you could become too wrapped up in your trophy boyfriend and overlook the sweet as pie boy living a mile away. He hadn't come right out and said he was talking about Clark, but it was obvious enough to her.  
  
"Oh," Clark replied downcast.  
  
"But I'll make sure to save you a dance," Lana quickly said, wondering where the words were coming from.   
  
Clark instantly smiled big. Little rays of hope were everywhere. He wanted to cry as the bus reached the school. How he would love to just sit there forever his knee brushing against hers, ever so gently. He stood up as the doors opened. Well there went that fantasy.   
  
He jogged a bit to catch up with Chloe and Pete, leaving Lana with a hurried good bye.   
  
"Hey guys," he called to them.  
  
"You know, I really hate it when you do that. Not all of us here are guys," Chloe pointed out, looking incredibly perturbed.  
  
"Right. Sorry Pete," Clark joked. That got a smile out of Chloe, and an indignant cry from Pete.  
  
"So, Clark, how was the ride?" Pete asked, grinning like an idiot.  
  
Clark with a grin just as dopey, and twice as forced, just sighed. "Magical," he whispered, looking up at the sky.  
  
Chloe rolled her eyes as the trio headed for the school building.  
  
Lana smiled when she saw Whitney pull up in his totally fixed truck. She gave him a long, hard, kiss, satisfying her for the moment. It came with the realization that she truly was with who she loved. Clark Kent, he was just a lust, not a love.  
  
"Whoa," Whitney said. "Since when did you get all frisky on me? I like it."  
  
Lana just smiled, and kissed him again. Whitney plunked his arm around her shoulder and they walked towards the school.   
  
In the corner of her eye, Lana could see Clark walking with his friends. Her previous emotions peeked through. She shook her head. She was with who she loved. Whitney. Not Clark.  
  
No. Not Clark. She didn't love Clark.  
  
Right?  
  
  
*more coming soon. With more action and more Lex. *wolf whistle* okay, the two most gorgeous characters EVER on the same tv show has got to be Clark Kent and Lex Luthor. Thanks for the reviews everyone, and please, keep 'em coming. Oh, and by the way, this story really won't be revolving around Clark and Lana together. Maybe in the future. *shrug* 


	3. 

Standard disclaimers apply. Song is "Makes No Difference" by Sum 41  
  
Chapter 3  
  
Clark walked slowly out of school. It had been a long day and all he wanted was to go home and collapse on his bed. Piles of homework, discovering new powers, avoiding his dad, reassuring his mom, hanging out with Chloe and Pete, watching Lana from afar, trying to convince everyone he was okay, and waking up every day wanting to be somebody else was taking an emotional toll on him.  
  
The last thing Clark wanted at that moment was to get on the crowded, smelly, loud school bus, especially now that Lana was riding with Whitney. But, he didn't have much of a choice. He was too exhausted to just zip home. With a sigh, he moved towards the bus. It was a long ride back to the Kent farm and he was severely dreading it. About a foot from the bus he heard the familiar sound of a truck pulling to a stop.  
  
Jonathan stepped out of the truck and took a deep breath. "Clark!" He called to his son. He was desperate. If his plan didn't work then he didn't know what would.  
  
Clark fully intended to just get on the bus and pretend he never heard him, until one Ms. Lana Lang interfered.  
  
"Clark, Clark," Lana called jogging up to him.  
  
Clark turned around to face her. "Hey Lana," he greeted her. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted his dad. He silently hoped his father would just leave.  
  
"Hey, Clark. Just wanted to tell you your dad's waiting for you over there." Lana pointed to Jonathan's truck.  
  
"Clark!" This call was accompanied by a wave as Clark looked over to where Lana was pointing. Clark nodded curtly at his dad, not feeling to slightest wave of guilt as Jonathan's face clouded over.  
  
"Uh, yeah. Thanks Lana. Guess I just spaced out....didn't hear him..." Clark mumbled.  
  
"Your welcome. So I'll see you tomorrow?" Lana asked, smiling her sweet smile.  
  
"Yeah," Clark said, forcing a bright smile. "I'll see you." He stood there for a moment simply staring at the beauty that was Lana Lang.  
  
"Ummm...Clark?" Lana asked, shifting uncomfortably.  
  
"Yes?" Clark asked lovestruck.  
  
"Your dad's still waiting," she pointed out.  
  
"Oh. Right. Thanks again." Clark frowned. "See ya."  
  
"Bye."  
  
Clark sighed as he walked towards the truck. If only Lana hadn't called to him.....told him. He couldn't just ignore his father and get on the bus after Lana had pointed him out. She would've known something was up, or just thought he was weird. Heck, she probably already did, he reflected, shaking his head. Without so much as saying a word, he slid into the passenger seat of the truck.  
  
"Have a good day at school?" Jonathan asked, pulling on his seat belt.  
  
Clark remained silent. He ran over song lyrics in his head in an effort to make the time pass quicker. "Makes No Difference" by Sum 41 was currently playing. He really just didn't want his mind to drift back to that day.....  
  
"You know you've got to talk to me eventually. You can't just ignore me forever," Jonathan told his son.  
  
Clark swallowed. 'You're running fast and missing but cannot help convincing. Reasons you gave me are all wearing thin.' The words running through his brain washed away his dad's/  
  
"And you can't ignore what happened and what you tried to do." Jonathan glanced at his son, trying to see if he'd jarred a reaction from him. Clark's face was unreadable. "You tried to kill yourself," he added quietly.  
  
'It's not meant to hurt you but let me assure you. It's not what you said but intentions you read.' Clark was barely aware that he'd begun to mouth the words.  
  
"It's not something that you can just bury away and never think about again. It's understandable that you may feel like you're alone in this world. You're not like everyone else, not even when you try to be."  
  
'So when you hold on to the past then you will break down what little is left. There's nothing more you can't ignore and say it makes no difference to me.' Clark felt his heart turn to lead. Looking up, he noticed that they weren't going in the direction of him. Crap.  
  
"You have to understand son. You can look at what you have as a blessing or a curse. Try and treat your powers like the gift that they are. And you're never alone. I'm here and I love you. And for what it's worth, I know what it's like to feel alone."  
  
Clark pressed his hands against his ears, trying his hardest not to yell. 'nowthatyou'reolderlife'sweighingonyourshoulderscan'tseemtokeepthingssoperfectlystraightwithmostthingssobasicyoumightaswellfaceityoucan'thelpbutworryit'salljustbegun.' The words ran together, and without even knowing it Clark began to whisper them.  
  
Jonathan pulled the car over. Clark was just sitting there, babbling. "Clark?" He asked nervously. "Clark, what's wrong?"  
  
Before Clark could stop himself, he rammed his fist through the glove compartment. Little bits of plastic went flying everywhere, and papers spilled out. Jonathan winced.  
  
"You don't know how I feel," he whispered, his breath coming out in short gasps. "Stop saying you do. You have no idea what it's like for me."  
  
"Help me, Clark. Help me understand." Jonathan put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Let me in. I can help."  
  
"Take me home," Clark whispered.  
  
"Please Clark just"  
  
"Take me home, Dad. Please," Clark cut in.   
  
Jonathan sighed and started up the car again, trying not to look at the hole where his glove compartment had once been. He mentally smacked himself. Why did he have to keep making things gradually worse? All he wanted was to help his son cope. So *why* did ever effort he made just push Clark farther away?   
  
Clark sat in stony silence, pressing his head up against the window. He loved his father, he really did. He just didn't want to talk to him. Maybe, just maybe, if he could just forget all about what had happened, he could move on and become at least slightly normal. So why did his dad have to keep bringing it up?  
  
As the soon as they reached the farm Clark shot up to his room, running past a very surprised Martha Kent. Now she knew something was up.  
  
Jonathan walked in later, his hands buried in the pockets of his jeans, his expression grim. Martha chose that time to confront him.  
  
"Jonathan," she began, moving herself in front of him. "Tell me what's going on. Clark is my son and I have the right to know what's going on. What happened while I was gone? Answer me Jonathan, or you're not the man I married."  
  
Jonathan sighed. "I wish I could tell you Martha, but I can't. It's out of my hands."  
  
"Looks like somebody's going to be sleeping on the couch tonight," Martha commented, storming off quickly to the kitchen. It could use a good cleaning, and she needed something to occupy her mind.  
  
Jonathan cursed under his breath and kicked the coffee table in anger. Perfect. Now nobody in his family was talking to him, and he's be sleeping on the couch. 'This is what you get for trying to be Super Dad,' he told himself. He walked out to the barn. Maybe a couple of hours with some power tools would help him cool off.  
  
  
Clark flopped down on his bed. The way he figured it, his room was the safest place to go. If he went up to his fortress of solitude, his dad might come up to try and work things out again. But, he could always simply lock his bedroom door, blast some Linkin Park and nobody would bother to try and come in.   
  
He stripped off his jeans and sweater and put on the blue pajamas he'd gotten for Christmas. No matter how dorky he probably looked, they were amazingly warm and comfortable. He drifted quickly off to sleep. Maybe he'd feel better after a nap. Then he could watch "Everybody Loves Raymond," eat a quick dinner, and head up for bed. Who knew? Maybe he's feel better in the morning.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Lex Luthor came to a screeching halt in front of the Kent farm. He sighed, mentally going over his plan. He had meteor rocks by the bucket full in his back seat. Boswell was good on his word. He just needed to wait until dark to carry out his plan. Everything was set. But mentally, he wasn't quite ready.  
  
'What if you hurt him?' His conscience asked. He didn't really want to hurt Clark. He was just curious that was all. And Luthors could never remain curious for too long. In the end, they always had to get the information they needed, no matter who go in the way.   
  
'A purely scientific experiment,' Lex reminded himself. 'And if he gets hurt, well, it's for the good of my studies.' He smiled a little bit. He'd do it.  
  
Lex drove away. He had no idea why he'd stopped there anyway. If he'd gone in to see Clark, he was pretty sure he'd have lost the nerve to carry out his plan.  
  
TBC. R&R peeps! 


	4. Default Chapter 4

A\N: My apologies for not updating sooner. I've been going through a lot lately. The flu, had a terrible case of that, basketball practice and games, big school project, all the hustle and bustle of the holiday season......anyway, I'm baaaaaaaaaaack!!  
  
  
Chapter 4  
  
Clark was woken up about a half an hour later by a loud pounding on his door. He groaned and rolled out of bed, landing on the floor with a loud bang, and probably creating some kind of damage to his house.  
  
Without thinking he swung open the door, ready to murder whoever dared wake him from his sleep. Chloe and Pete stood in front of him, smiling brightly.  
  
"Hey, Clark," Chloe greeted him. She looked him up and down with a smirk. "Nice jammies. Do they have a little trap door in the back?"  
  
"You wish," Pete snorted. Chloe elbowed him with a triumphant smile.  
  
Clark blushed, realizing he was still in his pajamas. He grunted, trying to save some dignity.  
  
"What are you guys doing here?" He asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.  
  
"Your dad said you'd be up here," Pete responded.  
  
"We were bored, wanted to come bother you," Chloe finished. "But since wittle Clarkie warkie is taking his nappy noodle, maybe we should get out of your way." She raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Naw, it's okay. Wanna watch TV or something?" Clark asked. It wasn't like he'd be able to fall asleep anytime soon.  
  
"As exciting as that sounds, we were thinking about heading over to the Beanary or something." Pete shrugged.   
  
"Sorry guys, but I better stay home. I'm beat, and my mom's expecting me for dinner." Clark grinned weakly.  
  
"Yeah, your dad said she went to the store or something." Chloe frowned. "By the way, what is up with your dad. We walked into the barn thinking you were Lana watching again, only to find him swearing like my uncle Leo and kicking the wall in."  
  
"Yeah, man. He's a little keyed up I think." Pete cringed.   
  
Clark grunted again, then sighed. "I dunno. He's just a little tense, I guess. He shrugged. "Anyway, you guys leaving or staying?"  
  
Chloe and Pete looked at each other and shrugged. There seemed to be a silent conversation going on between them.  
  
"I guess so, Clark man," Pete answered. "Raymond's on now, I think." Clark nodded. "To the couch then."   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Dinner that night was a quiet one in the Kent household. After Chloe and Pete had left and the TV had been turned off, the whole house pretty much died. Martha had come home soon after Clark's friends had left, and cooked a meal of all of Clark's favorites, including a scrumptious pecan pie for dessert.  
  
Jonathan was still in a grumpy mood. Martha wasn't speaking to him and Clark didn't even acknowledge his presence. So, as he supposed he was expected to do, he ate his dinner in front of the TV. Nothing good was on and Jonathan found himself watching "Sleepless in Seattle," on the Superstation. It was one of Martha's favorite movies, and as she had always said, the little boy, Jonah looked almost exactly like Clark had when he was eight. Jonathan, however, thought of it only as a chick flick and never really cared for it. But now, he stared blankly at the screen not even knowing what was going on in the movie.  
  
Dinner at the kitchen table was no better. Conversation was scarce. Occasionally Martha would ask a question, about school, or Lana, or anything along those lines, but Clark would just shoot her down with a simple one word answer or an assortment of grunts. To add to Martha's worries, Clark picked at his food, never really eating it.  
  
"Sweetheart, you're barely eating anything," she commented, concern in her voice.  
  
Clark sat up a little straighter. "Sorry, Mom. I'm just not that hungry."   
  
"Are you sick, baby?" Martha reached her hand across the table to feel his forehead.   
  
"I'm fine, Mom." Clark gave a bitter little smile. "I'm always fine, remember?"  
  
Martha went back to eating her dinner, pausing occasionally to sneak glances at Clark, who, for her sake only, scarfed down all the food set before him.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Lex Luthor took a deep breath and approached the Kent farm. It was exactly midnight, and not a light was on in the home. Lex had come to know the habits of the Kent family in the short time since he'd met Clark. He'd come to know that Jonathan Kent rarely went to sleep past ten, him not being a morning person, and he had to get up early to milk the cows. The rest of the family seemed to follow his routine.  
  
Still, Lex waited two extra hours just for security. Oh, he knew he wouldn't get caught. He never had before. He'd become an old pro at breaking and entering without stealing. He patted the pockets of his coat, making sure the meteorite rocks were tucked in securely. He'd need them soon.  
  
Without making even the slightest sound, Lex slipped through a basement window, ready to carry out his plan.  
  
TBC! R&R 


	5. Nightmares

Ummmm....hiya! It's time for a new chapter! Enjoy!  
  
Standard disclaimers apply. I don't own Clark or Lex, rather, they owns me. Tee-hee.   
  
  
  
Chapter 5  
  
Jonathan sighed and sat up on the couch. He was so tired but he just couldn't fall asleep, no matter how much he tried. He counted sheep, he tried to name all the First Ladies by spelling their names backwards. He tried to recite in his mind the Declaration of Independence in pig Latin. Nothing worked. Not even trying to clear his mind of any thought at all.  
  
With a grunt, he stood up and shuffled over to the kitchen. He swung open the fridge door, squinting at the light, and grabbing a bottle of milk. He chugged it straight out of the bottle, ending with a satisfied smile. He washed the bottle out carefully and placed it under the sink with the other empty bottles.   
  
Jonathan really didn't want to go back to the couch. It would just remind him of why he was there. The clock struck midnight. Jonathan groaned. He was never going to be able to wake up in the morning. That was, if he ever actually fell asleep.   
  
His ears perked up hearing a sound coming from below him. It sounded like quiet footsteps. Holding his breath, Jonathan strained his ears trying to catch any tiny little noise. Something did catch his ears, but not from below him, rather from above him. There was creaking and loud mumbling words.  
  
"Clark," Jonathan muttered to himself. He quickly jogged upstairs headed for his son's room. He couldn't care less if he was the last person Clark ever wanted to see again, he had to take care of him, anyway.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Lex held his breath, his ear pressed up against the basement door. He finally heard the footsteps move upstairs. He finally exhaled, relieve. Without making even the slightest sound, he crept through the door and began his task.  
  
Walking around the house slowly and quietly, Lex made sure there were meteorite rocks everywhere. Enough so that he could get the proper results. In every little corner, barely visible by the naked eye he placed them. In every downstairs room until he was satisfied. Almost satisfied. There was still much more work to be done.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Jonathan swung open the door to find Clark in the middle of what seemed to be, a horrible nightmare. He was rolling all around, yelling sometimes, mumbling others. Jonathan licked his lips. Martha could sleep through anything, he had to do this on his own.  
  
Jonathan sat down on the edge of Clark's bed. Placing a hand on Clark's forehead gently he whispered, "Clark....Clark."  
  
Clark mumbled incoherently and twisted around, throwing his blankets everywhere. "We gotta get outta here!" He yelled loudly.  
  
"Shh, Clark. Clark...Clark..." Jonathan's voice gradually grew louder but nothing seemed to awaken his son. "Clark....son, wake up."  
  
Finally, the boy's eyes snapped open. He looked around the room wildly, his heart racing. There was a loud silence then, "Mom?"  
  
"No, kid, it's me." Jonathan winced, expecting a harsh "go away," or something along those lines, but what he ended up getting was a tight embrace.   
  
He rubbed Clark's back softly. "Hey pal, what's wrong. What did you dream about?"  
  
Clark didn't answer, but continued to hug his father. In his hazy mind, he couldn't even remember being mad at his father or not speaking to him. All he could see was the dream that was so vivid, so clear. He remembered running, like in a maze. And everyone he knew was there and they were running away from something but he didn't know what. Finally they reached the end, where Clark was relieved to find Lex waiting for him. Clark ran to him begging for help. Lex, with an evil smile taking out a gun and shot his parents dead. Then, Chloe, Pete, Lana, Whitney, they were all killed too by Lex's gun. And Clark couldn't move to stop him. He could only watch and plead and scream. Until finally, Lex looked at Clark, the bodies of all his friends laid around him, and he laughed.  
  
"I'm not even going to bother trying, Kent. I know your secret. They," he gestured to the horrifying scene before him. "They all died protecting you. Except the quarterback, he was just a little bonus fun." And he winked. With that, Lex drew the gun to his temple and squeezed the trigger. Then he screamed, and he was awake.  
  
"So...bloody...." he mumbled softly.   
  
"It's okay now, Clark. It's okay. I'll go get you a glass of water and then how about you try and get some sleep?" Jonathan brushed the damp hair off of Clark's head.  
  
"Okay," Clark said weakly, settling back onto his bed. Jonathan retrieved the blankets he'd tossed off his bed and placed them on Clark once again. He returned quickly with a glass of cold water.  
  
"Thanks," Clark told him, taking a sip and swallowing loudly.   
  
"No problem pal. Now you okay to go to sleep?" Jonathan asked, concerned.  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
"Good. Good night, Clark."  
  
"Good night, Dad......I love you."   
  
"I love you too." Jonathan kissed his forehead softly and left the room.  
  
Clark tried to find a comfortable position in his bed. Finally finding one, he drifted quickly off to a dreamless sleep.  
  
Jonathan headed back downstairs again, running a hand through his hair. He knew for certain that by morning Clark probably wouldn't remember what had happened and would go back to being mad at him. Jonathan sighed. Well, just those few minutes were good enough for him.  
  
He hopped back onto the couch, closing his eyes tight. This time there was no fancy way of falling asleep, he just did.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Lex slithered up the stairs quickly, all the while watching Jonathan Kent snoring softly on the couch. He had waited a good long time for Jonathan to fall asleep but he had to be cautious. He's waited in the dark closet until Papa Kent's breathing had taken on a rhythm that meant he was either asleep or doing a hell of a good job of faking it.  
  
He came to the hallway quietly dropping rocks in a vase with white tulips in it. Then he came to the inevitable. Clark's room. It was time.   
  
Taking a deep breath, Lex pulled the door open without so much as a creak.  
  
"Dad?" Clark asked, so softly Lex could barely even hear it. "Is that you?"  
  
Lex froze.  
  
  
  
TBC 


	6. Things Start to Get Ugly

Here is the awaited Chapter 6. Sorry for the wait but it took longer than I expected. I'm trying to win an Incubus t-shirt! So if there are any fans out there reading this e-mail me please!  
  
Standard disclaimers apply.  
  
Chapter 6  
  
Lex stood perfectly still, his breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding wildly. So loud was his heartbeat that Lex was almost certain Clark could here it. Just like "The Telltale Heart," he mused.  
  
Trying to keep a level head, Lex decided that he wasn't going to be able to accomplish anything by just standing there. He couldn't get caught. Luthors never got caught, they simply covered their tracks and left the mystery unsolved. Leaning forward slightly, Lex grabbed the water glass off of Clark's night stand.  
  
"Dad?" Clark asked again, his voice thick and sleepy. It was so dark in the room that even Clark couldn't tell who was in front of him.   
  
Lex held the glass out to him. Clark sensing this, reached up slowly to take it, some water sloshing out of the glass and landing on his comforter. Lex was careful not to let Clark touch his hands. Surely he'd be able to tell the difference between the smooth hands of the sheltered son of a business tycoon who'd never even picked up a rake and the well-worn hands of a farmer, rough from long hours in the barn.  
  
Now, what did that remind him of. Lex licked his lips. Ah, yes it was a Bible story wasn't it. The two brothers Jacob and Esau. It was amazing what kinds of wild things popped into his mind when any possible second, Jonathan Kent could barge in there and haul his butt to jail for breaking and entering. But, ah yes, Jacob and Esau. Lex's mother had read to him from the Bible when he was younger, just before bed time.   
  
Jacob, he was the younger son, the loved son, Lex remembered, slightly confused until recalling the famous phrase, "Jacob have I loved, Esau have I hated...." or something like that. Esau, he was the older son and not as loved as his brother. But being the oldest he was to receive the blessing from his father. In the end his mother and Jacob tricked him and Jacob received the blessing. Jacob had stuck fur to his hands to try and pass off his smooth hands as Esau's hairy rough ones.   
  
'Get the job done already!' Lex's mind yelled at him. He swallowed. Yes, no time for remembering Bible stories, especially when you're breaking, entering, and most likely harming one of your best friends. And very especially when his father already wants to kill you.   
  
"Thanks," Clark mumbled turning over on his bed, his eyes slowly closing. "'Night Dad. I love you."   
  
Lex let out a breath, remembering his own father. They'd never been able to share something like Clark and Jonathan had. They'd never said I love you, or even 'I like you,' or 'You're not half bad.' He shook his head, trying to keep his mind on the task.  
  
Lex reached into his pocket for the meteor rocks, and then paused. Should he do it? What if it really did hurt Clark? Scientific or not, most people didn't go hurting their best friends. Especially is he's your only friend. Especially if he saved your life. Especially if he's the only person you can trust.   
  
With a small shrug, he continued on. He never let anything get in the way of his own personal gain. Soon rocks completely covered the room, all without Lex making a sound. He soon began to notice Clark's skin change, even in the dark of the room. His once tan skin seemed to glow green when he put rocks on his bed. Green sweat poured down his face. Clark groaned, breath coming out of his mouth in short gasps.  
  
Lex swallowed. What had he done? He began to do the one thing Luthors never did: panic. He started to breath heavily, a great feeling of anxiety hitting him. He for once wished he had his childhood inhaler. What had once been to him a thorn in his side, all the kids teasing him, calling him Darth Vader, was now something he longed desperately for. Finally after telling himself to relax, and taking a few deep breaths he calmed down.   
  
On the bed Clark still moaned and groaned, his skin even brighter than it had been. With a loud groan he rolled off the bed, slamming to the floor with an earth shattering 'bam.' Lex climbed quickly out the window, scampered into a tree, then down it, and finally to his car. It was so unlike him, he realized. He never did a thing like that. He'd never panicked, hell, he'd barely ever run before. What had the farm boy done to him?  
  
With a sigh he started up his car. He'd gotten what he had wanted, so the only thing left to do was leave. He left in his car, quietly, just as he'd come, worked, and now, gone.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Jonathan sat up quickly, tangling in himself in his blankets, and toppled to the floor trying to stand up. Finally able to stand up, but still stumbling and tripping he made a run for Clark's room. Flicking on the light so he wouldn't trip again Jonathan noticed a hole in the ceiling with Clark's fist hanging down, the skin a putrid shade of green. This made him go twice as fast.  
  
Even Martha, who could sleep through a twister had been awakened by Clark's fall. Jonathan spied her coming out of their room, tying a robe around herself. She met his eye and there was a mutual understanding. It didn't matter if they were fighting, if Clark was hurt, they had to put that behind him.  
  
Jonathan practically tore the door off the hinges, barging into his room.   
  
"What is it, Jonathan?" Martha asked, worriedly.   
  
Jonathan's heart stopped when he saw Clark, lying on the floor, looking as if he were in more pain than was humanly possible. Clark's eyes were finally open and glazed over. All around him the room glowed green, rocks visible everywhere.  
  
Martha gasped trying to take it all in. What was going on? Clark was never sick, never hurt. What was wrong?  
  
"Holy crap," Jonathan mumbled, stupefied. Snapping out of his trance, remembering that his son did need him, he sprang into action. He grabbed Clark and tried to get him out the door. He needed to get out of the room, that was for certain.   
  
It was like dragging a bag of cement but Jonathan was determined. Martha stood back to let him go through. He gasped as he finally got Clark into the hallway. The hall instantly illuminated, glowing green everywhere, just as his room had been.  
  
"Shit!" Jonathan exclaimed loudly. What could he do now?  
  
TBC 


	7. 

Standard disclaimers apply.   
  
  
Chapter 7  
  
Clark writhed in pain in his father's arms. Oh, God. His body was alive with pain like a fireworks explosion on his body. He grimaced. He heard his dad start swearing rapidly. What happened? What was going on? He'd lived in this house his whole life and never once had he come across a meteor rock.  
  
"Clark," Jonathan leaned down. Clark could make out a fuzzy image resembling his father.  
  
"D...." Clark licked his lips. "Dad...." he managed to sputter out weakly.   
  
"Jonathan what's going on?" Martha asked excitedly.  
  
"I'm gonna handle this, Martha," Jonathan replied, looking away from Clark at the moment. But soon Jonathan's face popped right back into Clark's view point. "Clark," the hazy image told him. "I'm gonna try and get you down the stairs and into the truck. You've gotta work with me. Try and help me."  
  
Clark tried to nod. He wasn't sure if he was successful. He was stood upright by Jonathan, eliciting a groan from him. He thought he heard Jonathan mutter a sorry, but he wasn't sure. He wasn't sure of anything at the moment. The green glow of the rocks seemed to dance before him, blending in with the dark hallway and creating an almost strobe light effect. So this is what a rave party would be like.  
  
Clark could barely move himself. All of his body was on fire but frozen solid at the same time. He wasn't sure whether his dad was dragging him downstairs or if he was falling.  
  
"You're going to be okay," Jonathan kept repeating quietly, methodically, trying to convince Clark and himself that it was true. He tightened his arms around Clark. God, he was heavy.   
  
"God, what's going on?" Martha gasped following behind them. She was on the verge of crying and Jonathan couldn't blame her. She was torn away from her bed at a little past midnight to face the sight of her son, the one who was never sick or hurt, barely able to walk and his face a sickly shade of green.  
  
"Martha," Jonathan choked out, suddenly wondering why tears were forming in his eyes. Damn. The hot liquid almost blinded him for a minute. "Martha," he repeated softly. "Martha, I need to take him away from here. Somebody did this. Somebody knows. You-you try and get the rocks out of here. I'll be back later."  
  
Martha nodded a quick agreement. "What do I do with them?" She demanded, panicked.   
  
"Get rid of them somehow. I don't care." Grunt. Another step. Clark moaned. Jonathan shifted his body so he could get a better hold on him. Clark's head fell on his shoulder. Grunt. Another step.  
  
"Hurry up!" Martha yelled as she scooped up rocks in her hands. God, they were everywhere.   
  
"I'm going.....oomph," the last stair. Jonathan, about ready to collapse had bigger problems than his physical well being. He had to drag Clark, whose health was rapidly deteriorating through the kitchen to the door.   
  
Dragging Clark, Jonathan managed to make his way to the kitchen counter. Every inch of the quaint kitchen seemed to glow wickedly with the bright green color. Shifting Clark to his other side, Jonathan grabbed his keys off the counter and shoved them in his pocket.  
  
With a lot of difficulty and many words Jonathan would never normally say, he managed to half shove, half drag Clark out of the house.   
  
The stars danced in front of Clark's eyes. His face was now pointing upwards, and he got a clear view of the night sky. The stars were even more beautiful than when he looked at them through the telescope. They seemed to shine brighter for him. He weakly raised one hand. Maybe he could catch a star and bring it to Lana. No girls could resist a star. Oh, now the stars were dancing for him. Around and a around and around, like that game.....ring around the.....ring around the...ring around the something. Yeah that was it. Wow, when had his knees become so wobbly?   
  
Jonathan gently slapped Clark's face. Not trying to hurt him, just trying to keep him awake. He had to get him to the truck and if he fell asleep it would be ten times harder on him. Jonathan had expected that Clark would be instantly okay again after leaving the house but that didn't seem to be the case. He could see a few stray meteor rocks scattered about the driveway, looking like an accident, like somebody had holes in their pockets. They weren't nearly close enough to get this kind of a reaction from Clark. Maybe Clark being around it for such a long period of time would have a lasting effect. Damn. He hoped not.  
  
Jonathan propped Clark up against the truck, jamming the key into the lock frantically and twisting it around. He threw open the door and grabbed Clark again. He forced Clark's body into the other side of the car and jumped in himself. He wasted no time and pulled out of the driveway, constantly looking over at Clark to make sure he was okay.   
  
Clark was slowly looking a little better. His face, though not as tan as it usually was, was no longer greenish, but a pale, pale, white. His whole body shivered and shook, his legs quaking and his arms hanging limply. He was half sitting, half lying down. Probably a bad position for him at the moment but the place was pretty cramped. Jonathan reached under the seat for the blanket he'd always kept there along with his fire extinguisher for things like this. Well not technically things like his alien son getting sick from green rocks. But things like that. He threw it over Clark.  
  
"Dad," Clark whispered.  
  
"Yeah son?" Jonathan asked.  
  
"I don't feel good." Clark chuckled. "For the first time in my life I don't feel good."  
  
"You'll be okay," Jonathan assured him for the thousandth time of the night. "I'm just going to take you to a hotel or something. You can't go back home right now and we need to call your mother."  
  
Clark nodded weakly. He sat in silence for a few minutes. "Dad?" He finally asked hesitantly.  
  
"Yeah buddy, what's up?" Jonathan asked running a shaky hand through his blonde hair. The worst seemed to be over.  
  
"Thanks," Clark whispered, his eyelids slowly drooping.  
  
"You're welcome," Jonathan answered with a smile.  
  
"I love you Dad.....and Mom too..."  
  
"I love you too son." Jonathan smiled warmly. Things would be back to normal soon. Well as normal as a family with an almost indestructible alien in it could be.  
  
Clark slowly nodded off to sleep, but Jonathan wasn't worried. He could sleep all he wanted.   
  
Clark was going to be okay.  
  
  
  
  
TBC soon 


	8. The Father You Need

Standard disclaimers apply.  
  
Chapter 8  
  
Jonathan entered the hotel lobby quietly. Clark was sleeping peacefully in the truck. He was suddenly reminded of all the road trips they'd taken as a family. The Grand Canyon and other various cites. The hotels were always Clark's favorite part for some reason. He'd be running around, stealing the packaged soaps and challenging elderly people to Ping Pong. That was where one of the few major accidents occurred involving Clark's powers. He swung too hard once and BAM! Hit the man right on the forehead and knocked him out cold. It had taken a lot of explaining and yes, lying to get out of that jam.  
  
Jonathan headed towards the front desk. He had left his wallet at home but he did have a credit card that he always left in the truck for emergencies. He was pretty sure this would qualify as an emergency. He ordered a room, took his key, and went back out to the truck.  
  
With a sigh, he opened up the passenger side door. Jonathan shook Clark gently. "Clark...Clark, pal, gotta wake up now. We're at the hotel."  
  
Clark's eyes opened slowly. He blinked a few times, and turned to his dad. "Hey," he mumbled, his breath heavy and labored.  
  
"Hey yourself," Jonathan replied with a friendly grin. "Now c'mon. We need to call your mom."  
  
With a groan, Clark got out of the truck. His knees wobbled a little bit. Jonathan bit a hand on his back. "You okay, Clark?"  
  
"Fine," Clark muttered. "Just a little dizzy."  
  
Jonathan directed Clark to their room, Room 102, where Clark promptly flopped down on his half of the queen sized bed.  
  
"I'll be right back," Jonathan told him. "I'm just going to wash up."  
  
Jonathan entered the small bathroom, smiling slightly seeing all the packaged soaps. Maybe he'd convince Clark to smuggle a few, just for old time's sake. Jonathan grimaced as he looked into the mirror. It was times like this that he felt very old, and in his eyes, looked very old. Lord knew raising teenagers was enough to give anybody gray hair. Jonathan turned on the taps and let the cold water soak through his hands before bringing them up to his face and basking in the cold water.   
  
Toweling his face dry, Jonathan opened the bathroom door. Clark was on the bed, watching a re-run of "I Love Lucy." He was sprawled out, covering almost every inch of the bed. Jonathan snorted. Some things never changed. Clark or "Icy Toes," as Martha had dubbed him had climbed into bed with them frequently when he was younger after a nightmare or when every noise outside made him freak out. Clark would crawl into his father's embrace and then promptly be a cover hog, and practically push him off the bed. It had been amusing if it hadn't been so damn annoying. Oh, well. He knew he'd have something to embarrass Clark about whenever he brought his dates home. Many mortifying stories that Clark would kill him if he revealed to Ms. Lana Lang.  
  
Jonathan sighed. Thinking like that was usually just to distract him from the bigger picture, which was usually something bad.   
  
"You gonna call Mom?" Clark asked, his eyes never leaving the screen as Ricky told Lucy for the 5,489,342 1/2 time that she couldn't be in the show.  
  
"Just about to," Jonathan replied, picking up the phone and dialing home.  
  
It took a lot of convincing, reassurance from both Jonathan and Clark of Clark's safety and almost an hours time, but Martha Kent finally stopped worrying. At least she said she did. Jonathan didn't know what to believe. She had agreed that Jonathan would stay with him that night and come back in the morning, without Clark, to help her clean up the meteor rocks. Now that Martha was taken care of, there was something Jonathan needed to address.  
  
"Clark," Jonathan began sucking in a deep breath. He sat down on the edge of the bed.  
  
"We need to talk. I know." Clark flicked off the TV and sat up straighter.  
  
"If you're tired...if you want to wait until morning...."  
  
Clark held up a hand. "No. Let's get this over with and then we can put it all behind us."  
  
Jonathan smiled. He played with his wedding ring a little bit, twisting it around and around before he finally screwed up the courage to ask the question he'd had bottled up inside since that day....  
  
"What were you thinking when you did it?" Jonathan finally asked, avoiding Clark's eyes.  
  
"Not exactly a soup question," Clark deadpanned and father and son laughed nervously. Clark half-shrugged. "I don't know what I was thinking. I guess.....I guess everything just hit me at once and I wasn't ready for it. Finding out I was an alien and stuff. I didn't know how to deal with it...so I just thought...hey there's an easy way out if you can...if you can have the guts to do it." Clark scratched the back of his neck nervously.  
  
There was a long stretch if silence. Jonathan rocked back and forth slowly, trying to let the rush of information process in his brain. Clark thought it was hard for him....well it was hard for Jonathan too. He had to listen to all the reasons why his son was unhappy, and if he didn't that'd just make things worse.  
  
"Why did you use a razor?" Jonathan finally asked. "You knew it couldn't hurt you."  
  
Clark sighed. "I'd already tried a gun."  
  
'Oh, God,' Jonathan thought. Clark, his son, his baby boy, had put a gun up to his temple and squeezed the trigger, hoping to end it all....ohGodohGodohGod. No.  
  
"And it didn't work." Clark brushed his hair upwards a little revealing a little white mark. "That's what a bullet did to me." He snickered. "I don't know what I was thinking with the razor." He paused. "Yeah, maybe I do."  
  
Jonathan looked at him expectantly. Clark swallowed a few times and emmitted a few shaky breaths. Jonathan touched the white mark on the side of Clark's head gently. Oh God.  
  
"I was out in the fields, so mad that it didn't work that I just lost it. I remembered this time when I was six years old and I wanted to shave just like you. So I went up to the bathroom with your razor, only I couldn't find any shaving cream. I guessed it wouldn't matter if I didn't use any. So I just scraped it down my face and I guess I wasn't as strong back then because a long gash appeared and there was blood running down my face. And I could see it so clearly, bright red, shimmering blood, and it seemed to be everywhere. Mom cleaned me up and all that, but I could still see it in my head, and I was fascinated by it.." Clark swallowed a lump in his throat. "I just ran blindly through the field to the house that day and I grabbed your razor from the bathroom and I just wanted it to happen again, just like it did when I was six. I was only thinking that I wanted to end it, any way I could. Only it didn't work like it did when I was six. Nothing happened. I didn't know whether to be relieved or angry."  
  
Jonathan leaned over and hugged Clark, his son, his child. Always his child, no matter how old he got to be. Clark returned the embrace, feeling lucky to have Jonathan Kent as a father. Not all dads gave hugs like Jonathan did or told him every day just how much he loved him. Some beat their kids around because they were to drunk and stupid to care that they were hurting their child. If anybody even lay one finger on Clark, Jonathan would go ballistic. Clark guessed he was lucky for that.  
  
  
  
"Thing is, you don't get to pick your parents. No one automatically gets the father they want. No one. Sometimes, however, if you're lucky and if you're blessed, you get the father you need. That's the best you can hope for, and really......that's more than enough."  
Chuck Fishman "Early Edition"  
  
  
  
TBC soon maybe. 


	9. PART 2: Past and Present

Part 2 of the story.....Back and forth between past and present. Lex and Clark past stuff. Ch. 1 is Lex though.  
  
  
Part 2  
Chapter 1  
  
Lex walked up the long driveway leading to Clark's house. His hands were jammed into the pockets of his black jacket. He studied the ground as he walked, trying not to think of all the bad things he'd done to the one person he could truly call a friend. He trudged along, kicking a pebble, wondering what the hell was wrong with him. He should've just been happy somebody in Smallville accepted him. But no, he had to push the limits again. He deliberately hurt Clark. Forget an experiment in the name of science. It wasn't that. He'd scattered the meteor rocks in Clark's house knowing the effect it would have on the younger boy.  
  
Lex reached up one hand and knocked on the front door. His fingers twitched nervously. He silently begged God to let Clark answer the door and be perfectly fine.  
  
Instead, Martha Kent swung the door open. Instantly, Lex knew what had happened. Martha looked dead. There were dark circles under her eyes and she was hunched over. Her eyes look haunted and distant. Sweat ran down her flushed face. She didn't even give her usual mother smile she threw at everyone. She held a dustpan in one hand and a small broom in the other. The dustpan was filled with meteor rocks. Lex swallowed.  
  
"Lex," Martha greeted him curtly, dumping the rocks into a small bin by her feet.  
  
Lex peeked over the edge. It was practically full. His stomach churned.  
  
"Um, Mrs. Kent....is Clark home from school yet?" Lex ran a hand over his bald head and tried to smile.  
  
"Uh, no. He's away....with his father."   
  
Lex frowned. She was telling the truth, but it certainly wasn't the whole story. Martha's eyes deceived her. However, Lex never had any trouble lying. His lies were as smooth as silk and popped into his mind and out of his mouth without a single hitch. He could talk his way out of anything. Nobody would doubt him for a minute.  
  
"Oh. I'll come back some other time. I just wanted to see if he wanted two tickets to a U2 concert. I remember him mentioning he was a fan." Lex shrugged. "Could you tell him to give me a call when he gets home?"  
  
Martha nodded, harried. "Sure."  
  
"Well, I'll let you finish up your work. Good bye Martha."   
  
"Good bye, Lex." The door was shut before Lex took one step. He shivered.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Lex sat in study hall poring over his algebra book. He sighed. Stupid boarding school. He stared at a problem for a few seconds until it looked like a foreign language to him. He slammed the book shut. Nobody even looked up. He traced his fingers along a carving in his desk. He glanced up at the clock. Forty more minutes until classes were over for the day and he could get out of the hellhole that was Wilkinson Academy for Young Men.   
  
A "young man" came through the door at that exact moment. He was a tow-headed kid with a shy smile. He handed a slip of paper to the study hall teacher who give him the typical Wilkinson "go away" nod. The teacher looked up through his bifocals.  
  
"Alexander, you're wanted in guidance," the teacher announced.  
  
Lex stood up, happy for the interruption. He took the pass from the teacher and crammed it into the pocket of his slacks. He strode out the door and down the stairs towards the guidance office. He took his time though, glancing at the painting that adorned the walls and whistling softly. He thought about his mother. Three years earlier exactly, his mother had died of cancer. And God did he miss her. Lex stopped. He felt his eyes misting over again and he couldn't have that. Godammit, he was a Wilkinson Young Man, he couldn't cry.   
  
Lex opened the door to the guidance office. He hadn't been inside before. It was his second week at Wilkinson, but he already hated it, especially the way freshman got pushed around. He'd been shoved into lockers, pushed down stairs, and worst, thrown outside naked when he was trying to change for gym. There was a back exit to the academy that led to the outside, next to an all-girl's academy who's entire population- or at least it had seemed that way- had gotten a clear view of Lex's manhood as he frantically banged on the door, demanding to be let in.   
  
Lex wasn't used to being shoved around. He was used to being so rich and powerful that people didn't touch him. But it was different at Wilkinson. There were people much richer than he was. It didn't help that he was the only bald guy in school. It was humiliating. He was tortured and ridiculed, humiliated and beaten, and it was only his second week at school. Apparently, one of the seniors- the one with the biggest neck- had a father who'd been recently laid off from Luthor Corp. This did not help Lex any. And it wouldn't help to tell his dad. Lionel wouldn't even care.  
  
Lex showed the slip to a kindly looking woman behind a desk. The entire staff of the school was male, except for the guidance department consisting of a bunch of females who spent the lunch periods making out with random teachers in the library. One would find these things out quickly at Wilkinson, especially if one had been searching for "Great Expectations," and had instead come upon a dark-haired guidance counselor necking with one's algebra teacher, and the next day catching the same counselor with one's Latin teacher.  
  
"Mrs. Daley," the receptionist said. "Room 5."  
  
Lex walked over to room five and knocked on the door softly.  
  
"Come in," a sort of flowery sounding voice.  
  
Lex opened the door and was relieved to see that his counselor was not the same counselor he'd seen in the library with his math teacher. This woman looked sort of like a hippie. Her long blonde hair was curly, and her make-up and clothes were light in cheery, such a contrast to the bleak look of Wilkinson Academy for Young Men. She smiled at him a little bit and spoke in a patronizing tone of voice.  
  
"Hello, Lex. I'm Mrs. Daley, your guidance counselor. Now I got a call from your English teacher, Mr. Keating. He said something about you seeming upset in his class."  
  
Lex's eyes watered. He remembered that class. And the way he'd cried a little when they were reading a poem, something called "The Undertaker" or something. He'd thought of his mom. Then after class, he'd had to stay after and finish an assignment, cutting into his lunch period, not that Lex minded. He didn't have anyone to sit with anyway. Mr. Keating had tried to talk to him, get him excited about classes, find out what he was interested in, try and become buddies with him. Lex hadn't bitten. When Mr. Keating asked him what was wrong, he simply shrugged and hurried out of the classroom. He should've known he wouldn't have let it go. Mr. Keating was one of those teachers who cared too much to leave you alone.  
  
"What is it that you're upset about?" Mrs. Daley inquired kindly.  
  
"I'm not really upset about anything," Lex answered.  
  
"Really? Because you look like you're about to cry," Mrs. Daley replied gently.  
  
"My contact lenses," Lex lied quickly. Mrs. Daley nodded and the conversation quickly went in Lex's direction. All the rest of his lies were faultless. The tears quickly left his eyes and he knew he'd charmed Mrs. Daley. By the time he got up to leave he was certain Mrs. Daley saw him as a normal, well-adjusted kid. He was good at fooling people.  
  
Lex walked away, thinking about friends. What he wouldn't give for just one good friend to understand him, to care for him, to sit with at lunch. His friend wouldn't have to be rich or popular, he'd just have to friendly and good to him. Lex would never be mean to him or hurt him purposely. He just wanted a friend. No strings attached. Just a friend.   
  
Lex slunk back into study hall knowing that if he ever had a true friend, he'd always treat him right. Always.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
yeah, who knows where this is going? I sure don't but stick around. It might get interesting. 


End file.
